


All's Quiet

by automaton



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Blood Kink, Dubious Consent, F/F, Knifeplay, Near Death Experiences, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 08:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/automaton/pseuds/automaton
Summary: Monika's illustrious career had seen her through dozens of close encounters and terrifying experiences - but she always emerged victorious, all the better from her struggles. A particular woman in skeletal paint would see that changed.





	All's Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> pre-rainbow au. comments appreciated!

Silence. Monika was blanketed in it, the stale air of the hallways absorbing all but her own footsteps. Each step reverberated through the narrow corridors – a foreign element, drifting through the twisting paths only to finally vanish, giving way to that overwhelming quiet. Monika was slow, deliberate – relying on the stillness to protect her – and to alert her of any disturbance. Silence was an ally, and so silence was reassurance.

Identical halls devoid of personality. They went on and on, drawing Monika into a lull – one concrete wall blending into another. Occasionally, a wooden door would break the uniformity – always open, and always leading to an empty, featureless room. Somewhere within was a stockpile of explosives, one worth Monika's team of experts – but she saw nothing. She had been taught to expect her opponents at every turn, anticipating their thoughts before they even had a chance to have them. And yet nobody crouched in corners nor laid at the bends of the halls, waiting for her to reveal herself. Monika was alone – left with the silence that filled her ears.

And that silence persisted. She heard only silence as she moved along her carefully-plotted path. She heard only silence as she investigated one room after another. And she heard only silence as her headset was torn from her ears and a knife pressed against her throat.

“Keep it quiet, _desgraçado_ , or I'll take your pretty face apart.”

A woman's voice. Hot breath on Monika's neck. Her gun clattering to the ground, eliciting pressure from the knife. A hand around her waist, drawing her into one of the side rooms. A click as the door was shut. The suggestion of force was as effective as force itself.

Monika wracked her brain, desperate to devise an escape. A deep, instinctual fear stirred within her – but she had been trained for this, and she would not allow it room to grow. Fear could be controlled. Yet every passing second prodded it, harassed it, a blossom of unformed panic a persistent threat. She grit her teeth.

Her assailant led Monika to the furthest wall, directly across from the door – before forcing her to face the wall and lean against it. Damn! She hadn't even _seen_ this woman yet – how was she supposed to get away?

“Drop the knife, _moça_. I know you GSG dogs always carry them.” The voice was firm, commanding, unwavering. It was experienced – and prepared.

Another tool taken from her. Begrudgingly, Monika withdrew her knife from its compartment and let it fall. It rattled as her attacker kicked it away. “Let – let me see you.”

“Don't talk.” The woman's words dripped with smug superiority – the air of someone confident, someone who had done this before. The blade against Monika's neck pressed a little harder. “You have one more thing I want.” Before Monika could react, the hand around her waist moved to her holster. Despair tugged at Monika as her pistol was taken from her and once more tossed aside, leaving her entirely unarmed. The panic Monika kept still under her finger was becoming more difficult to manage.

Only now did her assailant whirl Monika to face her, adjusting and keeping the blade trained at her throat all the while. At last, she could see her foe – a taller woman, with black hair tied into a neat braid and topped with a beret. And yet, one feature drew Monika's immediate attention, inciting a spike of fear that escaped her control. Skeletal paint covered the woman's face, obscuring her features. It was no disguise; her identity was unmistakable. Caveira.

Intel had suggested that Taina Pereira – better known as Caveira – just _might_ have been contracted to disrupt GSG operations. Yet no solid evidence had supported the claim; while Monika had reviewed what little information they had on her, in the organization's haste, nothing came close to preparation for her potential company. And now, Monika found herself inches from the woman's face, staring into her dark eyes. No sympathy hung on the other side.

If only she could call for help – if only she hadn't lost her headset! Elias couldn't be far – his path only missed hers by a few hallways in order to cover the most space in their search for the bomb. Yet he might as well be miles away; without her headset, it would be impossible to alert him. All Monika could do is pray that he – or their dispatcher – would notice.

Such an event seemed unlikely. The GSG had the two of them under orders of strict radio silence except when absolutely necessary – and so, to Elias, nothing would seem to be out of the ordinary. Even the dispatchers were quiet, only occasionally popping in to offer an adjustment to an existing order. Monika's heart sank.

Monika heard the blow before she felt it – a clap that shattered her reverie. It was as if she wasn't here, trapped in such a compromising position; her body felt slow, her senses dulled, and her focus gone. What a pitiful thing she was, trained extensively to the point of pride, only to fall victim to a surprise she was supposed to predict. But still – she must not allow panic to best her.

Another slap to her face. “Look at me, dog.” Caveira's voice was deep, intimidating – like something from a nightmare. “Lower yourself to the ground. Don't try anything, _desgraçado_.” Caveira drew back the knife from Monika's neck and lowered it to the height of her chest, Monika all too aware of the point that hovered just an inch from her skin. Slowly, deliberately – as one would disassemble a bomb – Monika slid her back down the wall until she reached the floor. The moment was tense: both women were silent, regarding the other impassively. Her attacker lowered alongside Monika before sitting on her legs.

Electricity hung in the air. As the two enemies maintained eye contact, the space between their eyes became a conduit: one that channeled their mutual hatred and exaggerated their differences, making the closeness they shared both intimate and impersonal. “You have nothing to gain here.” Venom and condescension seeped from Monika's words. “Interrogating me will be a waste of time. But I'm sure you'll try anyway, won't you? That's what you do, isn't it, _Taina_?”

A gleam of amusement sparkled in Caveira's eyes as a smile snaked across her face. “I'm impressed you know my name, dog. Maybe your informants aren't useless after all. And,” said Caveira, leaning in close, “perhaps you won't be, either.”

The fire in her heart was the only tool Monika had at her disposal. Better to go out with pride than to die wallowing in despair – despite the gnawing pressure her capture was having on her consciousness. “You're wasting time, you know.” Monika looked away. “You won't learn a thing – and my colleagues will find us.”

Caveira laughed – a harsh, low tone that reminded Monika of the fear that swam right below the surface of her bravado. “You're hardly the first to resist me.” Eyes narrowing, Caveira ran her fingers down Monika's cheek. It was almost... sensual. “But I can see the sweat covering your face, _moça_. You're scared. You'll give me what I want.” Monika didn't need to look to know the knife was pointed at her gut.

“I have nothing more to say to you.”  
“Fine, then, _desgraçado_. Most people beg, cry, do everything to put this part off as long as possible – but you seem to be in a hurry.” She grinned, her gaze flicking across Monika's body. Sizing her up. Evaluating her. A predator looking for the juiciest piece of its prey.

An expression of arrogant satisfaction flashed across Caveira's countenance. “On second thought... maybe I won't need this.” A click and both of the woman's hands were on Monika, sliding along the motion of her waist.

Monika's heart, long since racing, accelerated to new speeds – the knife? She put it away? A new possibility posed itself to Monika. But... the woman couldn't want _this_ , could she? Caveira was an interrogator – that much Monika knew. And yet she had demanded no answers. “Wh...what are you doing?” Monika failed to keep her growing apprehension from leaking into her speech – damn! The first crack... the first exposed weakness.

That laugh again. Its sinister note seemed deeper, less subtle. “I think you know, _moça_. And I think you know something else, too.”

Something else? A chill ran through Monika. She opened her mouth to speak – but nothing came out.

“No more fire left, is there?” Caveira's grin was wicked, terrible – and made so much worse by the fact she was right. The heat she had only just embraced was her final defense. Yet, that heat had expected torture of a much more visceral kind – nothing like this – and abandoned her, leaving her mind alone in the cold. Now, her emotions ran through her unchecked. Her discipline, her practice, her determination, her pride – all vanished, crushed under the pressure of the situation she found herself in. But what were those faint stirrings deep within her? It was no breed of fear, nor was it a hidden reserve of confidence. It was another sensation entirely, and it disturbed Monika far more than how quickly she had cracked. “Do you want to know what that 'something else' is, _moça_?”

Monika could do little more than stare into Caveira's eyes. Words eluded her; her internal struggle demanded all of her attention.

Caveira moved further along Monika's legs, their chests pressed together. Her hands continued exploring – one brushing Monika's neck, and the other tugging the zipper on her jacket. “You're mine.”

“I – you –” Monika's words were heavy, unwieldy, foreign in her own mouth. Caveira's breasts squeezed against Monika's own, their luscious warmth seeping into her like poison. A poison that clouded her mind, encircling her wild emotions and funneling them elsewhere. Deeper and deeper they sank, coming together and shaping into something much more frightening – something insidious, something that could shift the course of her life entirely.

Desire.

 

In an instant Caveira was upon her. Like a hunter, she pinned her prey to the ground as she prepared for the kill. Monika's jacket become nothing more than an afterthought as Caveira tore it from her body and made similarly quick work of her shirt. And like that, Monika was exposed – her skin cold despite the stuffy, stale air. Her mind was overwhelmed – like a circuit about to flip – struggling to comprehend the reality of her situation. Before she could process what she was doing, Monika found her own hands free of Caveira's grip – and sliding along the tall woman's thighs.

Caveira either took no notice of Monika's actions or simply did not care. Her hands cupped Monika's breasts, feeling them with unexpected tenderness – before ripping her bra in half and following the motion of her curves to her legs. Monika's breathing shallowed as Caveira's fingers slipped inside her pants.

Monika's body was sensitive, aching – craving what was to come next, despite every second she had spent training just for this crying out in protest. How could she allow such a trespass? How could she let Caveira this far so willingly – and _easily_? Her thoughts drifted to Elias and the countless hours they had spent together both inside and outside of assignments. She was betraying him – and everyone who had ever invested in her. Worst of all – she was _failing_ , and such a concept was unthinkable. It took only a hand wrapped around her already-stiff cock for those thoughts to implode.

A gasp escaped Monika as Caveira tugged the fabric of her pants, leaving her completely exposed – her shaft twitching with barely-suppressed _need_. Just a few minutes ago she had been crawling through the innumerable halls following her orders down to the letter. Now, she laid naked beneath an enemy – and did so without resistance. Somewhere in the building were active explosives – a hoard, liable to be taken elsewhere at any moment by escaping hostiles and thus lost. And yet, despite the stakes – time had become a thick sludge: viscous and resistant, every second an eternity. No, Monika – snap out of it!

Sensing Monika wriggling beneath her, Caveira shifted – her fingers now tantalizingly out of reach of Monika's dick while her free hand reached into her pocket. A chill ran through Monika's spine – her bare neck again becoming acquainted with cold metal. The knife.

“You seemed _so_ well behaved for a moment there, rat. Having second thoughts?” Monika's jaw clenched as Caveira ran the knife along her neck – _just_ hard enough to leave a thin, stinging pain in its wake. Caveira lifted the blade from Monika's skin – the edge glistening crimson. “That's good. I like _struggle_.”

Monika kept her mouth shut, eyes locked on the knife looming above her. Distantly, she became aware of something – the rustling of fabric alongside the movement of Caveira's body – but it was dull, muted. Unimportant. The sensation of her own blood trickling from her neck to her chest consumed her attention. What should have been fear was now desire – a primal impulse, tucked somewhere deep within the confines of her mind. She almost wanted Caveira to run that blade across her again, parting her skin and staining the floor with her life. With a start, Monika grabbed the blade by its edge, inviting a surge of pain to jet through her. It was a pain so delicious, so compelling, that her role became clear at last.

A wide smile spread across Caveira's face at the act, pressing the blade harder into Monika's hand. “Ah, so there's _something_ in you. Good.” She slid the knife through Monika's grip, a deep gash forming in its path. It cut so clean, so easily, that Monika couldn't help but shudder. There was no use denying it any longer. Blood dripped to the floor.

Only now did Monika realize the implications of the fabric she heard shuffling a moment ago. Her eyes slowly trailing down from the knife, Monika caught a glimpse of Caveira's bare legs – toned and trim with the musculature of an athlete – her fatigues carelessly tossed aside, just like so much else. Saliva flooded Monika's mouth as her attention turned away from Caveira's thighs – and to what lay between them.

A neatly-trimmed bush gave way to a thick, throbbing cock that eclipsed Monika's own by at least a few inches. It was perfect for the woman it belonged to; it, too, was commanding in a way that felt instinctual, natural. Noticing Monika's redirected gaze, Caveira placed the knife under her chin, forcing her to stare into the interrogator's dark, intimidating eyes. Before Monika could process what happened, Caveira's tongue was in her mouth – teasing and toying with her own in the intimate dance of both lovers and monsters. All too quickly the kiss was over, Caveira pulling away, face contorted into a ravenous expression – the kind of frenzy, of unbridled and raw desire.

Just like that Monika was shoved back into her position on the floor, Caveira's motions determining the flow of their acts. That was more than okay to Monika – her nerves were shot and her thoughts corrupted, captured only with the excitement of what was to come next. She didn't have to wait long.

Caveira straddled Monika, sliding further and further up her body. The feeling of Caveira's cock pressing into Monika's skin was almost too much to bear, driving her already-maddening need to absurd levels. At last, Caveira's member was mere inches from Monika's face – twitching, aching, a bead of precum already forming at its tip. For a minute Caveira simply hung there, waiting – relishing in Monika's ever-building frustration. Monika wanted this, she wanted this _so badly_ , and even now it was still out of reach. If only she could taste it. If only she could _have_ it. If only...

Caveira – rough and with no concern for Monika – abruptly forced her way into Monika's mouth, one hand in her hair and the other holding the knife to the still-bleeding cut on her neck. Immediately the blonde's tongue began exploring its delicate contours, its firm shaft, its plump head – her eyes drooping as she lost herself in the woman before her. It was salty, inviting – more and more precum leaking from its tip into Monika's throat as she savored every drop. Caveira began to roll her hips – equally harsh as her entry, focused entirely on her own pleasure and without a thought to Monika.

Not like it mattered, anyway. Monika was suspended in a haze of lust and emotion, fixated on the cock sliding in and out of her mouth. Her lips matched the speed of Caveira's motions, her tongue swirling along the length as drool leaked from the edges of her lips. Caveira, commanding, smug, confident – began to lose her composure. Gasps escaped in time with her thrusts – but quickly, those gasps evolved into full-bodied moans. Hearing them brought forth a swell of pleasure in Monika – she was doing well and – hadn't failed. Her capture was outside of her control. A twinge of regret crept up on Monika – but that _was_ failure, wasn't it? No, no... that was pointless to think about right now. Caveira sped up, her breathing shallow and irregular – and Monika moved to keep pace, eager to please. Need coiled around her mind as a snake to a rat. Her uninjured hand wrapped around her cock, sending shocks of delight through her aching body.

Monika's thoughts once again drifted toward her mission – the duty she had been assigned. Where was Elias right now? Did he have _any idea_ she was missing? Was he looking for her? A cold chill ran through her as she briefly considered the implications of Elias discovering them. With a shudder, she banished the possibility from her mind and returned to the present. Finally, Caveira was beginning to slow down – the precipice before orgasm fast approaching. Monika slowed accordingly – but continued teasing Caveira with her tongue, awaiting the moment for which she was so ready. Her own body's excitement began to build, focus – she didn't have much longer, either. Every stroke was accompanied by sparks of bliss, keeping her hunger sharp.

A moan fell from Caveira's lips – passionate and alive, shimmering with the promise that their little moment was coming to a close. Her motions became jerky, sudden, yanking Monika's hair to capacity as the knife in her other hand scraped along her throat, opening a new gash beneath the one that had only just begun to clot. Monika reciprocated, pushing her lips to meet Caveira's tidy bush. Trembling, Monika closed her eyes and prepared for the inevitable.

With a gasp, Caveira lurched forward in a desperate bid to somehow drive her cock even further down Monika's throat. Convulsions rocketed through her body, the predator falling into the ultimate moment of her hunt; their game was at an end. Monika shivered, jets of thick, salty cum pumping down her throat – scarcely giving her a chance to swallow. Monika sped her own motions up, desperate to bring herself to climax, too – but unable to quite keep pace with her mistress.

Caveira's shudders were just subsiding as Monika reached her limit. All rational thought had long been banished, her body single-minded in its need. She barely noticed Caveira pulling out, a thin trail of saliva connecting her lips with the woman's still-throbbing length. Monika gasped, her muscles contracting as she prepared to fall over the edge.

The knife clattered to the ground. Two hands grabbed her – one for each arm – forcing Monika's grip from her dick and pinning her arms to the floor. Instantly her body flooded with overwhelming _disappointment_ as she was pulled back from the brink, her ending torn from her. Looking back to Caveira's monstrous, skeletal face paint, Monika writhed in an attempt to break free from her grasp – only to give up as Caveira held steadfast. Her countenance was gleeful, wicked. “I don't think so.”

Monika's ordinary emotions, previously stifled under the weight of lust, asserted their existence. Anger welled within her, trying to peel away her desire and bring her back to reality. But the fact remained: she was _frustrated_. She was _unsatisfied_. With a grin, Caveira caressed Monika's face – her fingers electric on Monika's ever-needy skin. Monika began to inch her now-free hand toward the knife, eyes locked with the woman. “That was _fun_ , little thing. But I have bigger ideas.” Without warning, Caveira slammed her hand onto Monika's, jamming it against the floor. Monika squealed, instinctively pulling back – away from the blade. “Seems like _someone's_ grown a bit too brave. Did you think I wouldn't notice that, rat?” Her eyes glimmered as she reclaimed the knife, the now-familiar sting of its edge returning to Monika's chest. “I have the perfect solution.”

Monika eyed the blade. Her time was up; the torture she had anticipated had not been avoided, but rather – delayed. “You've burned so much time. They'll –”

“Shut up.” A fresh bead of crimson formed at the tip of the knife – another decoration, fit for the collection Monika quickly amassed. Wordless, Caveira shifted positions yet again. With a forceful shove the blonde found herself flipped on her stomach, face pressed into the dusty concrete of the floor. A firm hand planted in her hair and the prick of the blade against her neck insisted this was where she would stay. Her cock – stuck between the floor and the weight of her own body – sent pulses of that same burning anguish through her, keeping the thought of what she had been deprived fresh in her mind. With a start Monika realized her wounds were, even now, seeping onto the concrete. She couldn't be losing _that_ much blood – could she?

She had been too rash in concluding that torture was moments away. The new space Monika occupied meant one thing and one thing alone. Something dark in the back of her mind shifted, Caveira's intent clear and not... unwelcome. Having long since surrendered to the instinctual, base urges of her body, Monika allowed her excitement free reign. Perhaps she would get what she wanted after all.

The removal of the blade from her neck signified a change in the woman behind her. The unmistakable sound of spit stirred up apprehension, every passing second bringing the inevitable a touch closer. Hands wrapped around each of her thighs – and Monika knew the time had come.

Breathless, Monika kept her face planted to the floor, lifting her lower body ever-so-slightly. Seeing she was not immediately swatted back to the ground, she ventured further, raising herself in a show of submission – a submission scarcely fought for; a submission so lost in a sea of maddening desire that it was almost no prize at all, worthless under those of – greater – mettle. The air crackled with tension – palpable and suffocating in the stale air of the complex. An eternity passed, or no time passed at all – Monika couldn't tell. Caveira's breathing had dropped to near-silence, calling back the fresh wound of Monika's capture. This woman was unparalleled, and Monika found herself questioning whether or not she was the first who had gone down this way.

The frustration that had so quickly come to define Monika only grew, bellowing and snarling in the quiet – begging in its own profane manner what she refused to speak. Every synapse in her body fired with exhilaration as she felt Caveira's length squeeze between her ass and prod the edge of her entrance. Monika bit her lip – and failed to stifle a gasp as Caveira slid inside.

At once Monika's body shook with pleasure, desire, need, pain, failure, satisfaction, disappointment – the culmination of everything she had experienced in the short time the two had spent together. Caveira wasted no time with frivolities such as tenderness; her hips bucked against Monika's thighs, her cock harsh beneath the thin lubricant of saliva. Monika's own member twitched, dripping precum – she was so sensitive, so sore, so worked up. It took everything she had to suppress her body's already-primed urge to _let go_. Gasping, moaning, Monika prayed she wouldn't have to endure it much longer.

A sharp pain in her back nearly broke Monika's concentration and let ravenous instinct take over. It began in her shoulder, snaking in a jagged, uneven trail along the motion of her spine to its conclusion at the edge of her thigh. As another started to worm its way down from her other shoulder, Monika realized what Caveira was doing – and didn't care.

The pain mixed with the unholy combination of sensations Monika was already feeling, becoming yet another accessory to the climb she had long since reached the peak of. The ground beneath her feet was eroding, and all she could do was stumble backwards in an attempt to delay the inevitable despite her impulse to throw herself from the ledge. It was only a matter of time before she would step back onto air, tumbling down into the abyss.

Caveira's motions picked up again, her thrusts becoming rough and painful as the spit finally wore dry. A particularly harsh gesture opened a new horizontal gash on her back, its blood blending with the rest of the wounds as they trickled to the floor. Monika pulled herself from her trance for but a moment, the cut bringing with it a brief lucidity that illuminated the puddle now surrounding her. But... it didn't matter. It didn't matter at all.

Shuddering, Caveira leaned into Monika. “I know what you want, _moça_. Tell me.” Her voice trembled ever-so-slightly, the woman grappling with her own instincts. The blade ran along Monika's back again, but this time on its flat edge – the pressure amplifying the pain of the open wounds and spreading copious blood across what remained of her unbroken skin. Instead of replying, Monika squealed – a mix between a gasp and a moan – as the taller woman plunged deeper into her than any had before. Monika felt lighter – airy, weightless. Dizzy. Staring down at the crimson that pooled about her hands, Monika's vision lost focus. So much. She was losing so much. Why didn't she care? Was she about to die?

Satisfied with the scant answer Monika could provide, Caveira draped herself over the blonde – the weight of her body proving too much for the weakened woman. Monika collapsed, holding Caveira's length inside her as she broke her position and sank to the floor. Eyes half-lidded, Monika's aching, bleeding, _needy_ body became aware of a hand sliding between her and the ground – coming to rest wrapped firmly around her cock. At once electricity surged through Monika, her injuries briefly forgotten; the edge consumed her mind anew as she teetered at her limit. The deep, commanding notes of Caveira's voice and the sway of her hips was all it took.

“ _Now_.”

At last she had become undone. Monika's fragmented thoughts shattered, falling piece by piece into the white oblivion of pain and mind-bending physicality. Thought, fear, desire – all silenced, buckling under the pressure of the convulsions that tore through her. Monika cried out, volleys of her seed splattering the floor and swirling with her essence. Every muscle in her body seized and contracted, drowning her in an ocean of bliss. No one – nothing in the world – had ever been like this. Would anything ever compare? _Could_ anything ever compare?

Somewhere, somehow, her lover – her opponent, her officially-sanctioned enemy – had dropped into the same orgasmic joy she was experiencing. Quiet shudders and moans were Monika's only warning before Caveira let go, embracing a single moment of simulated vulnerability. For an instant, both of them were prey to their own instincts – even the hunter – the one who would cut life short in a synonymous final gasp. Monika's sensations capped with the feeling of warmth seeping into her body – the body that had already lost so much. As her contractions subsided, Monika allowed that heat to internalize as she slipped into stillness. Her battered frame was giving in.

Through the dim curtain of semi-consciousness, Monika felt Caveira pull out and roll her onto her back. With her little remaining energy, Monika's eyes followed Caveira to the corner of the room – the corner where the woman had so carelessly tossed her pistol just a short time ago. This was it. It was over.

Monika's eyes fluttered. The gunshots were faint, stunted – as if she were hearing them through a pool of water. Three shots – or so she thought – and then a clatter as the pistol hit the floor once more. No pain? Straining the last of her strength, Monika looked up and saw several new holes in the wall. Her partner had gone, but there was some other – familiar – sound reverberating down the hallway through the newly-opened door. The rushing, heavy noise of someone in body armor. The face of Elias in the doorway, contorted with horror. The feeling of being hoisted onto a shoulder through an indistinct chorus of frantic words. With a sigh, Monika lost consciousness.

 

 

 


End file.
